


Sorry, Geralt Said No

by a-not-humble-bard (LadyofWinterhell)



Series: Pre-Slash Geraskier One-Shots [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Can be read as gen, Crack, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Gen, Jaskier | Dandelion Being a Feral Bastard, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Pre-Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Pre-Slash, Pre-Slash If You Squint, idk man, jaskier doesn't shut his mouth, no beta we die like witchers, what is this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:07:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23289751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyofWinterhell/pseuds/a-not-humble-bard
Summary: That meme that's smth likeBad guy: Jaskier, you're going to die.Jaskier: One sec, let me ask Geralt.....Jaskier: Geralt says no.Except this went in a little less humorous direction than intended. Idk man.Canon typical violence, language, & humor.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Pre-Slash Geraskier One-Shots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1673392
Comments: 29
Kudos: 561





	Sorry, Geralt Said No

**Author's Note:**

> "What Mess, What Worry" was originally going to be based on this prompt but then that fic took a different direction. And, well, this ended up a little different than I had intended. Oh well.

“Sorry, I don’t think I have permission,” Jaskier responded, expression curled up in what appeared to be genuine contemplation.

“Excuse me?” Gregor spat, but there was a clear bewilderment in his eyes as he glared at the tied up bard. The White Wolf’s bard.

“Yeah, you’ll have to ask Geralt first.”

“Ask him what?”

Gregor’s voice was low and ruff and anything but charming. To Jaskier, it sounded like someone was trying to form words by grinding rocks together. Loudly. In the bard’s life experience, he knew that gruff voices and restraints could lead to a very fun time, but this was definitely not that.

“Well,” Jaskier drew the word out as if he was explaining something to a very small, partially deaf child, “you just said that you were going to gut me. Usually when people say not nice things like that, it’s implied that it’ll lead to death.”

Gregor said nothing, the gears in his brain attempting to make sense of the bard’s nonsense.

“You want me dead. Right? I’m going to die,” the words were slow, intentful. 

A sinking feeling bloomed in Gregor’s stomach, reminding him of old tales intended to scare children into behaving. Of creatures that looked human but had the voices of angels. Angels that could weave spells with only their words. Perform deep, ancient magic through simple conversations, ensnaring their prey without anything appearing the slightest bit off. Creatures with abilities as deadly as they were subtle. And suddenly, he realized that perhaps Jaskier's face fit in perfectly with the way his childhood imagination had portrayed those villains, as his mother whispered warnings of them into his ears at night.

Still, even with his hair standing on end, he swallowed hard and replied, as if compelled to.

“Yes. You’re going to die, bard.”

All the cocky confidence he’d had before was now absent from his tone. For a moment, the room was calm. Still.

And Jaskier’s lips curled into a soft, reassured smile.

Perhaps, Gregor thought, some monsters weren’t made up to frighten children.

“Ah, see that’s the problem,” Jaskier’s words were steady. “You’ll have to ask Geralt.”

Gregor’s heart pounded in his chest and every ounce of self-preservation in his body told him to keep his mouth shut. To run. To get away. Because a bard wasn’t supposed to have  _ that _ look in their eyes. They weren’t supposed to be so still and relaxed as a man twice their size loomed over them. As they were rendered immobile. And yet...

“Ask him what?” the words slipped from Gregor’s lips.

His heartbeat was loud in his ears.

“If I can die.”

“Geralt?”

The last word was a shout, a call for the witcher. While Jaskier kept his easy-going expression, eyes not once leaving Gregor, the brute of a man hastily scanned the area, searching the cavernous opening. Was the witcher there? Hidden in the darkness, ready to step into a stream of light and plunge his sword into Gregor’s gut? Hiding just out of sight, like a predator stalking an unknowing prey? Were monsters not only real, but connected to one another? Ready to come running at each other’s defense? Ready to bewitch and kill their human prey?

“Oh that’s right. He told me last time I asked that the answer wouldn’t change. So, sorry, Geralt says no. Guess you can’t kill me,” Jaskier finally said with a shrug.

Monsters were not real, Gregor’s conscience told him as fury washed over his body. There were only stupid men, ready to throw away their life for a joke. The truth filled him, as did every deep breath of air he inhaled. And how the air swirled to life inside him, burning through his insides as it mixed with realization.

“You think I’m a joke?” Gregor yelled, raising his sword.

The look on Jaskier’s face was all the response he needed.

As Gregor swung the sword down, Jaskier inhaled deeply. Why yes, he did indeed think Gregor was a joke. A joke of a man, a joke of a bandit. Certainly, a joke of a kidnapper. But Jaskier also knew that some part of the large oaf had realized what was going on and, had he only listened to that part of himself, Gregor would’ve lived to see another day.

“Bastard!” Gregor barked, his sword cutting a deep gash in the bard’s chest.

Only, there was no gash. No blood. His hands began to shake as Jaskier stood up. His clothes were torn, yes. The rope was surely cut, seeing as it fell to the ground below the bard. But there was no injury. No wound. 

“Sorry,” Jaskier sighed. “I told you, Geralt said no dying for me. I don’t make the rules.”

Except he did make the rules, and both Gregor and Jaskier knew it.

That small, buried part of Gregor--the little piece of him that knew when things were wrong--screamed and filled his brain once more with memories of ancient magic and men that could do so much with only their words.

It was too late to listen.

~ * ~

“Geralt!” Jaskier yelled, practically leaping at the witcher.

“You escaped?”

They stood just outside a body of rocks that concealed a network of open spaces, protected from the world and perfect for hiding in. Geralt had guessed his bard had been dragged inside one of the caves after being captured, and had been proven correct when the man in question ran out from an almost entirely hidden opening only a few yards ahead of where the witcher stood. He had been wrong, however, about Jaskier’s ability to not talk himself into certain death.

“Well I’m here, aren’t I?” the bard answered with a smile.

“How?”

“Oh, you know,” Jaskier shrugged before making a performance of flipping his bangs out of his eyes, “my natural seductive charm.”

“Hmm.”

He wasn’t buying it.

But still, he felt his heartbeat slow as Jaskier’s voice filled the air with an embellished tale of bravery and wit. They turned from the cropping of rocks, headed towards town, and Geralt never got close enough to feel the deep, haunting presence of old magic that lingered in the cave air.

**Author's Note:**

> Some variations of this that I had in my head include (1) one where Jaskier shows up in a tavern and narrates what happened, but that ended up being What Mess, What Worry, (2) one where Jaskier was carrying around a doll of Geralt and addressed him when asking the question, and (3) one where Jaskier mouthed off being stupid, not knowing that Geralt actually had Yennefer put a protection spell on the bard.
> 
> Constructive criticism welcome! This is a bit OOC Jaskier so I know that already. But other feedback is appreciated!


End file.
